Adopted Son Read online

  “That’s true. With something so rare as HS, you can’t tell how their body is going to react to a disease. Sometimes what just starts out as a sniffle can lead to something serious in a hurry. Whatever the genetic defect that causes HS is, it looks like it affects the immune system, HS babies may not be as resistant to simple diseases as regular babies. Have you gotten him immunized yet?”

  “Yes sir, we’re up to date,” said Lorraine. She waved the baby’s medical papers to emphasize the point.

  “Well then, you three best be on your way. It’s a great day outside, you don’t want to miss the weather.”

  The new parents thanked the doctor and continued down the hallway on their way out of the hospital. They chatted between themselves at how nice the hospital staff had treated them. On their way out, they passed by the maternity ward. Lorraine, who just loved babies in general, demanded that they stop and look in the window at all the other children.

  They glanced around a bit and then went on their way. Lorraine seemed pleased by the experience, while Tom found it a bit troubling. Something the doctor said was sticking in his head. “HS is a very rare disease,” the doc had said. If that was so, why were there three newborns in the maternity ward that were clearly HS positive?

  Three weeks after Tom Miller noticed something strange. The White House, Washington, DC

  Ray Johnston waited impatiently outside the White House Situation Room. Everything was smaller than he expected it to be in here. There was barely room in the hallway for a pair of chairs for people to sit in. He wasn’t feeling all that comfortable in his suit. He was also sweating quite a bit. Was it too hot in there? The presentation had gone pretty well. Ray had been giving a lot of presentations recently. He was sure of his facts. But this one was to some pretty high-ranking people. It was so important a topic. He wasn’t sure that he had been taken too seriously though. He wouldn’t have taken himself that seriously if he hadn’t gathered the evidence personally. But he was sure that in the end, they would do the right thing. That’s why they had been elected after all, wasn’t it?

  The door to the conference room opened and General Dumphries came out. “Ray, they’ve finished their debating, come on back in here.” Ray got up and grabbed his briefcase. He had forgotten to lock the clasps though and it tumbled open when he lifted it, spilling slides marked Top Secret/Majestik-12 all over the floor. He quickly stuffed them all back in his case and ran inside. You don’t keep the President of the United States waiting.

  Ray entered the Sit Room. It had been a spare bedroom back when the West Wing was built, and there was barely enough room for the large central table. You actually had to ask an NSC member to move their chair if you wanted to get to the podium. Ray squeezed his way front and center and awaited their reaction to his presentation.

  “Mr. Johnston,” began the President, “I want to thank you for taking the time to put together this fascinating briefing.” He tapped the cover of the 400-page document that Ray had assembled over the past year. “It’s quite an impressive piece of work.” Ray wanted to say thank you, but he didn’t want to interrupt the President. “I can’t say that I understand all the technical details, but it is clear that you’ve found some very interesting things. Unfortunately, the NSC has chosen to take no action on this issue at this time.”

  Ray was shocked by the decision. Didn’t they understand the implications? Didn’t they understand the threat? How could they choose to take no action at this time? “Well Sir, when will be the time to take action on this issue?” he asked incredulously. “How can you choose to ignore this?”

  “It’s not that easy son,” said the Vice-President. “You can’t just go to the people with something like this. They won’t believe it. They won’t accept it. I mean come on, if the President released this to the press, he’d be laughed out of office.”

  “That’s what the report was for, Sir. All the data is in there, it’s incontrovertible.”

  “That’s what you say. I must have had five meetings this morning with different lobbyists, and they all have incontrovertible proof of one thing or another, most of it contradictory. There’s a lot of play here. We’ll task this out to some national lab people, they’ll try and confirm, but I think that it is way too premature for any of this to be released to the public. We don’t even have a solution for any of this. We need a game plan.”

  “But you can’t just wait on this. There isn’t any time left. Every minute we delay is going to hurt our chances of surviving.”

  The President said, “You just don’t understand all the political ramification of this thing, Mr. Johnston. I can understand how you feel the way you do from your perspective. But remember, your job is to find way-out threats and bring them to our attention. But there are a lot more parts to the puzzle. We’ve got to worry about the employment figures, foreign relations, the environment– a bunch of other things. We can’t just go off half-cocked on something like this. We’ve got to spin it right. We’ve got to give the American people a ‘warm fuzzy feeling’ about it. Otherwise there’ll be panic in the streets, and we wouldn’t want that now, would we? We’ll take your report under consideration, and we’ll monitor the problem very closely. I’ll put one of my top aides on it. You just go back and try and uncover some more info on this. Good work, son.” He presented Ray with a thumbs-up.

  The President was interrupted by one of his aides, “Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but you’ve got four more briefings to get through before lunch.”

  “Yes, good, send in the next briefer,” the President said to his aide. Then he turned to Ray, “Great briefing Mr. Johnston. Great briefing. Keep up the good work.” General Dumphries smiled and began to guide Ray out of the chamber. The President continued, “...and Mr. Johnston, remember to pick up one of my signed photos as a souvenir. Ask the secretary. Great briefing.”

  The last image that Ray had of the room was of a new briefer beginning to show slides about Russian Air Defense units. The President was already deeply engrossed in the new brief. He wouldn’t do anything about this. He wouldn’t even remember it ten minutes from now. “Ray, I thought that went great. I’m always proud of my boys when they can get some face time. This presentation will be a great addition to our yearly highlights report.”

  “Well, what the hell do we do now?” Ray said to the General, ignoring the empty congratulatory statement.

  “You heard the commander. We go back and look for more evidence. We take it slow.”

  “But there isn’t any time. We’ve got to take action now. Before it’s too late. Hell, it may already be too late.”

  General Dumphries picked up his beeper from the tray on the secretary’s desk. No electronics were allowed in the Situation Room. As he stretched to clip it back to his belt his shirt strained to remain tucked. “Calm down Ray. You’ve done your job. Remember, we don’t make policy. We were hired to inform the policymakers of the facts. What they chose to do with those facts is up to them. All we can do is be good soldiers, that’s all.”

  “But they’re not going to do anything. They are going to take that report, classify it so deep that no one will ever be able to read it, and they’ll do nothing. Then it will certainly be too late.” Ray was clearly getting hot under the collar.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve already written a commendation for your work. It is documented how you were the first person to pick this up. When the story finally breaks everyone will remember that you were the one who was right. It’ll all be in your personnel record.”

  “Damn it! Is that all you people think about? We’re talking the end of the freaking world here! This isn’t some bureaucratic crap. Are people so not used to dealing with serious threats that they’ve gone blind to them?” The General put his arm around Ray, and tried to calm him down. Ray pushed him aside and headed towards the door. “I’m not going to stand for this. I won’t stand around and let the whole world end just to have a freaking gold star on my personnel file. Screw my personnel file.” Ra
y left the office.

  The General wasn’t going to let Ray’s behavior bother him. He was a company man. He had made his rank by maintaining a cool head and following orders. He had taken some management courses. He knew that primadonnas like Ray often get frustrated by the bureaucratic nonsense that goes on in today’s government. It was best to let them blow off a little steam. Then everything will be ok. The presentation to the NSC would look great on the General’s file when he came up for promotion. He couldn’t see anything bad that happened today. He calmly walked down the hall, stopping only to pick up a signed picture from the secretary and a handful of candy from the jar on her desk.

  Excerpt from an Editorial in the Sacramento Bee, Health Section, page H4. Three days before Ray met with the NSC.

  “Is HS the Latest ‘Environmental’ Disease?”

  by Dr. Alan Franks, health editor

  The latest statistics released from the NIH this Thursday paint a stark picture of our nation’s newest epidemic. The number of Handel’s Syndrome children has been increasing at an alarming rate. In the last year, the number of cases has increased almost ten-fold. The figures for prior years are even more disturbing. There wasn’t even a name for the disease up until about two years ago, and epidemiologists have yet to uncover a confirmed case of HS dating back more than five years. You’re probably not even familiar with the symptoms; deformed features, stunted growth, enlarged eyes. What’s more alarming is that NIH is still unable to identify a cause for this disease. Despite rumors on the internet, HS is genetic in nature (HS children are born with an extra chromosome), it is doubtful that some sort of germ or virus is the culprit. However, since it only appeared recently, it cannot be considered akin to Hodgkin’s or Diabetes or any of the traditional genetic diseases that have been around since time immemorial. It is more likely caused by some new mutating agent. But what sort of agent could do this? With the Thalidomide scare of the 1970s, the symptoms showed only in patients whose parents had ingested the drug. But HS doesn’t seem to have any sort of epidemiological consistency. Physicians worldwide have reported cases. There doesn’t seem to be a focal point or any feature that links the patients. They come from rich and poor backgrounds, warm and cold climates, their parents have varied access to drugs, foods, and industrial chemicals.

  One answer may be that the chemical causing the mutation has become ubiquitous, much in the same way that DDT is. DDT was banned from most industrialized countries decades ago, but detectable levels are still found in the livers of polar bears, who certainly have no recent direct exposure. It is possible that some chemical we have been taking for granted all these years has actually been building up in the food chain, and has finally reached levels where its mutagenic effects can be seen.

  One good guess at the mutagen is the class of chemicals known as ‘environmental estrogens.’ These industrial by-products are chemically similar to estrogen, and they are rumored to have effects on the human metabolism. They are thought to be primarily responsible for the alarming decrease in human male sperm production that has been recorded over the past few decades. It is also possible that these chemicals are responsible for the mutated frogs that are being found in lakes all over the country. Due to their thin, porous skin, amphibians are usually more affected by small doses of chemicals than mammals are. Do the frogs represent the future for the human race, smothered and mutated by the weight of our industrial by-products?

  The medical community should make a strong effort to find the cause of HS, and to develop an understanding of how the disease is contracted. I urge politicians to increase funding for HS research. While the number of patients with HS is still very low, the alarming increase over the past few years should make HS research a priority. Whatever the cause, it needs to be identified and controlled in a hurry, before even more children have to grow up with the disease. Let’s not repeat the mistakes that have been made with other diseases. Now is the time to increase funding. We can’t afford to wait until the disease reaches epidemic proportions.

  Two months after Baby Doe was brought home, Holy Trinity Orphanage, Bronx, NY

  “Well, thanks for stopping by, just the same. We’ll call you if the situation changes,” said Sister Mary Helen to the couple as they walked out the orphanage door. Her dejection was readily apparent in her voice. She stood in the doorway for a while, watching them walk down the street hand in hand. It was starting to get cold out. Winter was coming. She went back inside and closed the door.

  Father Blythe was waiting for her in the hallway. “Well Sister, is there any good news?”

  “No Father,” said the nun. “They wanted an infant, but they weren’t too interested in taking on the responsibilities of a disabled child.”

  The two of them walked down the drafty corridor of the orphanage. “Don’t look too harshly on them Sister. It’s a big responsibility. Not many people are willing to shoulder that burden. That is why we are here. Our job is to take in those that no one else wants. The children here will never be unloved because of us.”

  They reached the infants’ room. It was empty except for one crib. It was usually pretty easy to place infants. People wanted the ability to raise a child from scratch. They wanted an empty slate to work with. Infants were usually not the problem. It was only the older children that the orphanage really had a hard time placing. But this new baby was different. He had a hard beginning. Found abandoned in a garbage can, addicted to drugs. And, to top it off, the child had a rare and disturbing disease.

  They looked in the crib at the sleeping newborn. Its giant eyes were just slits. It sucked on its spindly thumb as it slept. The Father carefully patted the child on the head. “We’ll find a home for him someday.” Its skin was thin and slick, not unlike a frog’s.

  “I think that his time is running out Father. After they hit about a year or so their chances of ever leaving start to go down. If we’ve had this much trouble with him so far, I don’t think that he’ll ever be adopted.”

  “Well Sister, then it’ll be a blessing for us, won’t it?” replied the Father, trying to convey good spirits. “Everything has a purpose in this world, and if God has decided that the boy will stay with us, then there must be a reason for it.”

  “I suppose that you are right Father.” She took the blanket and tucked the child in a little better. It was drafty in this old house. The blankets were thin, but serviceable. “I guess that we can’t keep calling him ‘Baby Doe.’ If he’s to stay with us, we should probably give him a name.” They’d named children before. As the guardians they had the legal right to do so for children that had no birth record. They didn’t like to take that step though, because they believed that a person’s name should be a reflection of their history. With no history for these kids, it was unfair to name them. That was a job better left to their adopted parents. However, it had happened in the past that a child got too old to be called ‘baby’ and so they created an official name. The standard last name they used was ‘Trinity’ after the orphanage. The first name was usually left up to the head Priest.

  Father Blythe had his hands in his pockets. He usually had his hands in his pockets, it was a nervous habit. He rummaged around for a bit and pulled out everything he had. “Well Sister, let’s see if anything in here will inspire us.” There wasn’t much there– a pocketknife, a screw, and a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. Father Blythe unfolded the bill and looked at it. “Franklin Sister. How do you feel about the name Franklin?”

  “Franklin Trinity,” replied the Sister. “I suppose that has a certain ring to it. I’ll tell the rest of the Sisters that our Baby Doe is now officially Franklin Trinity.”

  Handel’s Syndrome Research Laboratory, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, MD

  “Dr Mensen, I think that we have a problem with those samples that you gave me.” Nancy Collins, stood at the doorway to the doctor’s office. He looked up from his computer.

  “What’s that you say Nancy?” He had been doing some internet sear
ches for information. Dr. Mensen preferred the old days, when journals still came in paper form– something that you could flip through while sitting on the can. He didn’t like these new ‘searchable’ on-line journals. They were too focused. Sure, you got the information you were looking for, but you never learned anything else. It was too easy to click a button and flip to the next page. Everyone was becoming more and more adept at their little piece of the puzzle, but less and less informed about the rest of the world. No one had the capability to put two disparate pieces of information together anymore. None of his post-docs had the capability to think outside the box. They were so used to being able to get exactly what they needed, that they never bothered to learn how to do things a different way or to figure out a work-around for an intractable problem.

  “Well, I was doing some of the DNA mapping, and there seems to be a problem with the blood samples that we have. I couldn’t get any acceptable results.”

  An exasperated Dr. Mensen sighed inaudibly. Couldn’t these post-docs do anything right these days? From what he remembered, post-docs used to be able to do simple experiments without needing you to look over their shoulder. Nowadays no one seemed to be able to do anything. What was going to happen to the NIH once he retired? It would be chaos. He stood up and moved around the desk, “Show me the problem,” he said.

  The two walked down the hallway to the main laboratory floor. The place was filled with beakers, vials, biohazard symbols, and other paraphernalia. They passed two of his other post-docs, who were busy abusing his precious PCR-sequencer. “Good afternoon Dr. Mensen,” they said in unison. Mensen grumbled a greeting as they walked past. “OK, tell me what you did.”

  “Well, Dr. Mensen, I’m working on how HS is transmitted to children like you said to do. I was trying to look at mutations in the parent’s genes that may have led to the mutation in the children. According to biology, the gene defects in the children should show up in the parents.”